#and fourth: i honest to god feel like i’d end up hurting her if we’d tried anything. i can be so insensitive sometimes

[roaringroa]

i can feel myself starting to develop feelings for someone i really shouldn’t. please don’t do this @ myself. it’s not gonna end well

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 38: Statement of Kieran Blackwood, regarding...choice. Recorded direct from subject, twenty-fifth of March, 1997.

[CLICK]

KEEPER

When did you start using these for official statements?

GERTRUDE

If this were official, I would have you write it down. Most of the people who come in with a statement simply fill out the forms provided by the Institute.

KEEPER

So why not have me write it down? Why bother to listen?

GERTRUDE

Because I suspect that what you’re about to say would be…unwise to add to the Archives.

KEEPER

It’s not related to that statement, if that’s what you’re getting at.

GERTRUDE

I don’t think it is, no.

But I do think that, whatever it is that brought you here, it may not be something that needs to be available to everyone. I’ve begun recently making audio recordings of statements that I want my research to be…private, shall we say?

KEEPER

Or we could say “secret”.

GERTRUDE

(heh) Fair enough. Any live statements that I feel could be…useful, to myself or my successor if need be, go on the tapes as well. In this case, I suspect it may be both.

KEEPER

You may not be wrong.

GERTRUDE

Besides. I don’t know that I’ve ever had another…devotee of one of the Powers walk in off the street and offer me a statement. Call it curiosity.

KEEPER

I can certainly assuage that, Trudy.

GERTRUDE

Don’t call me that.

KEEPER

Sorry. Occupational hazard.

I’m sure you know how that goes by now.

GERTRUDE

I suppose I do.

Statement of Kieran Blackwood, regarding…

KEEPER

Choice.

GERTRUDE

Recorded direct from subject, twenty-fifth of March, 1997. Where would you like to start?

KEEPER

At the beginning, I suppose.

KEEPER (STATEMENT)

As long as there have been lighthouses in England and Ireland, there’s been a Blackwood manning at least one, probably dating back to the Dover Castle in Kent and leading all the way down to my father. My earliest memory is of him holding me as we stood on the railing, the beacon flashing across the night-darkened sea, keeping safe any ships that might be sailing by. He took his responsibility seriously, and so did I. I remember telling my best mate, a boy whose family lived next door to where Ma and I lived, that I was going to be a keeper myself one day. He asked how I knew, and I told him it was what we Blackwoods always did.

I told Dad that, too, and he took me on his knee and explained a few things. He said the Blackwoods had always been lighthouse keepers, not because we wanted to, but because we had to. He said I was going to be starting school in the fall and that I was a bright lad, so I’d have choices he never had. He told me he wanted me to do the best I could, and that when the time came, I could choose to be a keeper if I wanted, but it had to be my choice.

He died that winter. There was a bad ice storm, and while he was scraping the glass clear, he forgot to shield his eyes when the light came around. It blinded him, and he lost his balance and fell. Hit the rocks at the base. They found him washed up on shore the next morning. Ma took poorly and was in bed for a few days when we got the news, and I went to stay with my best mate until she could get up, but she never quite recovered. I was afraid Ma would want to move back to Ireland where her family was, but she said we had roots too deep in the Bournemouth soil to leave it now. Wasn’t until years later that I found out how little money we had—we couldn’t afford to leave. Then again, if Grandmother hadn’t left us her house, we wouldn’t have been able to afford to stay.

I still wanted to be a lighthouse keeper, but by the time I was ready for the eleven-plus, I knew I couldn’t. For one thing, Ma got into hysterics any time I mentioned it—like it would somehow be more dangerous than anything else I could have done, just because it killed Dad—but for another, they were beginning to automate lighthouses by then. Every year there were fewer and fewer jobs, and I’d have been lucky to get one. My grades were all right, but I knew I wouldn’t pass any of the tests needed to be a keeper.

If I couldn’t do that, I decided, I’d do something on the sea. My best mate and I used to play at pirates some when we were little, and we talked about doing that, but of course you couldn’t really do that. We thought about the Navy, too, but we agreed that whatever we would do, we would do it together. By the time we were sixteen, though, I knew I wouldn’t make him. He was smart, top of our class. I barely scraped by with a pass. So we made another deal, him and I. I’d go into trade, learn to sail, to fish, and he’d go on with his education, get a degree in business. Together, we’d build our own fishing company, go out together. Someday, we said, we’d have our own business, a business we could hand down to our sons if we wanted, if they wanted.

I found a job with a fishing crew. Deep-sea stuff, extended voyages. The money was good, so I could take care of Ma and save up a bit, too. And winters were my own, so I could spend them at home. I was a bit of an outcast among the crew, though, and not just because of my age. Even when they were together, they were silent and…distant. The captain was one of the owner’s sons, so of course he was too high and mighty to talk to any of us, but I always felt like he was…watching me. Like I’d disappointed him, even though I did everything right. I felt sometimes like I was the only one with connections on shore—not just Ma, but Walt. We were right close. Looking back…there might’ve been more there than we ever admitted, but it just wasn’t done.

Then I met Liliana.

Walt introduced us. Actually, he was just starting to date Sarah at the time and they needed a fourth for dinner, so Sarah invited her along. I won’t say it was love at first sight…truth be told, I won’t say there was ever love. I’m still not sure Lily’s actually capable of feeling positive emotions towards other people, to be honest. But we had some of the same interests, then. We both liked to dance, we liked the same books, the same foods. She introduced me to her father just before I went out that year, and the old boy and I hit it off, so when I got back in the winter we started keeping company again.

Ma died in January, and Lily came to the funeral, which I appreciated. The four of us got a bit drunk that night, and…well. I was getting ready for the next salmon run when she told me she was in the family way. I was just considering my options when Walt called and asked if I thought the crew could use another sailor, because Sarah was expecting, too. He was leaving school immediately—they needed the money.

I—I couldn’t let him join the crew. It felt like a waste, and I knew he’d want to be there for Sarah and the baby…and I kind of hoped he’d be there for Lily and mine, too, since I couldn’t be. Besides…something about Captain Lukas gave me the creeps. I wouldn’t willingly subject anyone I loved to to that. Luckily, my father-in-law had just mentioned to me that he needed a general handyman about the place. The pay was just as good, and Lily and I had made our home base not far away, so it seemed perfect. We had a quick double wedding, and I went out with the fishing run.

She gave birth right after I got home. We were a bit early back that year, come to think of it, but at the time it never occurred to me that there was anything odd about that; we’d hit quota, that was all. I didn’t love Lily, I told you that, but my God, when that doctor laid the baby in my arms and told me “it’s a boy”, I fell in love then and there. Walt’s boy was born about a month later. There’s a picture somewhere of the two of us, sitting on Alastair’s porch, rocking a pair of sleeping babes and talking.

At least, I hope it still exists somewhere. Brings me comfort thinking it does.

Walt died right when he said he would, three weeks before the fishing run started. The three of us went to the funeral, but Sarah screamed at Alastair before it even started. Accused him of killing her husband.

GERTRUDE

I can’t imagine—

KEEPER

Oh, it wasn’t. Complete accident. The old man wasn’t even home at the time, he’d taken the boys to a science exhibition of some kind. And I’m the one who found him, come to that. Sarah was just hurting and needed someone to blame. But it ended with her ordering us to leave. The look on Walt’s boy’s face when I pried mine away from him and said we had to go is one that still comes to me when I’m having trouble sleeping.

KEEPER (STATEMENT)

My boy and I got a lot closer after that. That boy was my world. My light. The beacon that drew me back to shore. I started calling him Wickie before he could talk. Lily hated that nickname, but then, she hated a lot of things.

She—she wasn’t strong. I don’t mean her health, necessarily, although I know it was a hard pregnancy and that’s when her troubles started. I mean her mind. It was so—easy for her to give into despair. We’d never been close, but we got further and further apart every year. We’d probably have fought more often than we did, but I wouldn’t put Wickie through that. Instead, I’d absent myself. That didn’t help.

Plans. Choices. They never go the way we mean them to.

I gave it one last chance, and it’s one I’ll probably regret to my dying day. The Lukases have a Christmas gala every year, but you have to be an officer on a vessel or serve fifteen voyages before you get an invitation. Suppose it’s to make sure you’re loyal enough to deserve it, but maybe it’s also to make sure you know the rules. I don’t know. The year Wickie turned eight was my fifteenth year with the crew, so I got the invite. It included the whole family. Lily was actually enthusiastic about it, but…she didn’t want to bring Wickie. Said he wouldn’t behave. I—I’m the one that insisted on giving him the choice. Of course he said he wanted to come.

I wish I hadn’t let him.

There were no other children there. That should have been my first clue something was wrong. None of the other sailors even had spouses or sweethearts. I was the only person besides the Lukases themselves who actually brought my family. Maybe the only one who had a family to bring.

I talked Lily into a dance or two. We used to like it, once, and for a song or two it seemed like we’d got back…well. It didn’t last. She said she was tired and wanted a drink. I found her a seat at a table where she and someone from the shipping side of the company could ignore each other and went to fetch her something, and I was looking around for Wickie. I—I found him, eventually. He was off to one side, looking scared, looking…lost. One of the Lukases—Peter—was talking to him. He seemed perfectly friendly, but I could see the fog rolling off him, threatening to engulf my boy. Didn’t seem to be anyone else who could see it, or maybe everyone was just ignoring it. He reached forward to tuck a curl behind Wickie’s ear, and the fog curled that much closer.

I admit I had a bit of a reputation for fighting when I was in school. Never unprovoked, mind you, but…well, between the fact that I was half-Irish and the fact that my best mate was darker than some people liked, I got in my share. I don’t have a temper, but I do have a protective streak a mile wide, and I’m not above acting on it.

As you might imagine, breaking your boss’s son’s nose isn’t exactly the sort of thing that looks good to your employers. I got Wickie and Lily and we left then. Took me the better part of the next week to convince Wickie it wasn’t his fault I’d got in a fight, but it rather put a damper on our Christmas. At the beginning of January, I got a rather terse letter from the Lukases telling me I’d not be welcomed back to the crew.

I…I didn’t tell Lily. I certainly didn’t tell Wickie. Lily was starting to get sick, I couldn’t have told you what it was, but we needed an income and now all we were getting was the bit she picked up at the tailor’s when they needed her. I was desperate to try and come up with something, anything, but nobody was hiring. I swear to you I was about three days away from coming to you and asking if you’d take on a new assistant when there was a knock on our front door one foggy night.

(heh) The fog should have been the clue, really, but it wasn’t, and like a fool, I opened the door. Peter Lukas was standing there. I almost shut the door in his face, but he told me he felt bad about me losing my post on the crew. Said my boy deserved better than an unemployed father, and he was there with an offer. Against my better judgment, I listened.

His family owned a lighthouse, he said. One it was important to keep lit, but just then it was without a keeper. He wanted to offer me the position.

I didn’t believe what I was hearing for a minute. The idea of actually getting my childhood dream after all…and from someone I had every reason to hate? I knew there had to be a catch, so I asked, and I was right. Peter told me it was a stag station, meaning no families; Wickie and his mother would have to stay.

I—I laughed. I asked him how big a fool I thought he was. I’d already told him once to stay away from my boy, and if I wasn’t there, what was to stop him from going after him? Peter took the contract out of his pocket and showed me a clause that explicitly said he would stay away from my son, as long as I kept the light. He gave me the paperwork and told me to think it over, and if I was interested, to sign it and send it back and it would all be taken care of, but warned me I’d have to leave by the time the season started.

That night, with Lily and Wickie both asleep upstairs, I read over that contract with a fine-toothed comb. It all seemed airtight. The pay was decent, enough to keep up with Lily’s medical bills at least, and the tasks were exactly what I would have expected. It wasn’t until I got to those last clauses that I realized what the catch was. It explicitly stated that the Lukases would stay away from Wickie as long as I held the position—but it also stated that I had to do the same. Should either one of us break the taboo and talk to him, it would be fair game for the other to do the same.

I didn’t have much time to think about it. The season was only a week away. I thought about asking Alastair, but I knew what he’d say—not to have anything to do with anyone tied to those things. He’d never been thrilled I worked for the Lukases anyway, but at least before I’d had some distance. This was…worse, somehow. I thought about taking Wickie and absconding in the night, but—but I couldn’t do that. He’s smart, Trudy, he can do so much, and I knew if we were on the run he’d lose so many opportunities.

There was only one choice, in the end. I signed the contract and mailed it off.

The night I left was the night I would normally have left for the fishing run, so I just…let Wickie think that was where I was going. Went through our usual routine. We had alphabet soup and cherry preserves for dinner, then I tucked him in and sang the old sea shanty I always sang the night before I left, to put him to sleep. Once he was asleep, I went downstairs to talk to Lily.

I won’t repeat the things I said to her. Suffice it to say I made sure she knew I wouldn’t be back, and…I let her believe that it was what she’d accused me of before. That I was leaving because of her, because I didn’t want to deal with her and her issues anymore. I left that night knowing I’d well and truly burned that bridge behind me.

Peter Lukas met me at the docks. We didn’t speak. Ignoring all the ships preparing to go out, we went down to the shore and began to walk, silently, until all others had faded away and it was just us, the sand, the waves, and the grey of the pre-dawn sky. And then…there was a door. An old oak door with a brass knob, supported by no structure, standing on the beach and waiting. Peter stopped, pointed at it, and said, simply, “The door to the Light.”

I didn’t ask questions. The time for questions was past. It was my last chance to choose differently…but even if I hadn’t signed that contract, I don’t think I could have chosen to do other than what I did. I shouldered my bag, took a deep breath, and strode through the door.

And I took up my duties as the Keeper of the Light.

It has no name. It needs no name. It’s just…the Light. Fifteen feet in diameter, made of brown stone, it stands on a mountain overlooking, not the sea, but a desert. A vast, impenetrable desert, with nothing as far as the eye can see. The beacon it shines over this desert is not white, but red, bathing the sands periodically in light the color of blood.

The first day I was there, I did an inventory. There were all the things I remembered my father having when I was a wee nipper, things I only vaguely remembered the purpose of, but I knew I’d learn quickly. I’d been told the light would be fully equipped at all times, and it was. The oil was full, there were plenty of fresh wicks, and all the tools were in perfect working order. There was a single bed, big enough for a single man to sleep, although not particularly comfortably. There was a table with one chair. There was one plate, one bowl, one cup, one fork and spoon and knife. The cupboards, I had been assured, were fully provisioned, but I wasn’t yet hungry, so I went to look at the rest of the light.

There were no windows, but there were pictures on almost every wall, each one framed in a different frame. Each picture looked like it was a windowpane, which I thought odd. Then I looked in one, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp. It was a window all right, and one I knew. It was looking into Wickie’s bedroom. I could see him, as clearly as if I was right there, hair rumpled with sleep, looking absolutely devastated. Lily was standing there, too, holding a picture in one hand. I think it was the photograph of the two of us he keeps on his nightstand. She must have been taking it away.

It hurt. I looked away and went to look at another picture. There was a little boy in it, looking—terrified. Upset. Like he wanted to cry or scream but didn’t know if he was allowed. He was reaching a hand out towards a house, where a young man was looking into an open door. He looked like something inside had caught him off-guard, and—something dark, something inside, was reaching out like it was going to grab him. There were cobwebs in all the corners, but they were part of the picture.

For a moment, I didn’t know why it was there—but then I gasped again. I recognized the boy, or thought I did. It looked like Walt, exactly like Walt had at that age. Then—then I saw the eyes. Walt’s eyes were blue, a bright, bright blue that outshone the ocean. This boy’s were a warm and guileless brown. Like Sarah’s. This was Walt’s boy.

The pictures aren’t static. They aren’t of things that were. I realized that as the days, weeks, went on. They change from time to time. I’ll see Wickie working away on his knitting, or Walt’s boy curled up with a book, or one of them standing outside and looking at the sky. It lets me…keep an eye on them, I suppose. But it aches. It’s the ache of separation and loneliness. I can’t look at them too often.

The only place to see out is from the railing around the light. It looks out over the desert, and from there, I can see everything. Doors appear periodically, more old oak doors with brass knobs supported by no structures. They never last long. Sometimes people stumble through them, and then the doors disappear. The people wander the desert. Their paths cross all the time, or go alongside one another, but they never talk, they never see. Each person in the desert believes themselves to be alone.

I can hear them sometimes. I hear them talking, desperately reaching out. They’re all looking for someone, all missing someone. They run for the doors when they see them, but they don’t always make it, and they don’t always see them. I wondered about those doors, about where they led…at first.

Three months in, I found out.

I was doing a perimeter check of the lighthouse, around midday. A door appeared, just in front of me. I walked closer to it, and it didn’t move. For me, the doors stay. I hesitated, then grasped the knob and opened it. The room beyond was dark, the hands of the clock indicating it to be later in the evening than I knew it to be where I was. Time doesn’t move the same way there, I supposed. Then I realized where I was. I was in Wickie’s bedroom. He was curled up asleep, having a nightmare, poor thing. I wanted to go over and comfort him. I’d actually taken half a step over the threshold when I stopped, when I remembered.

Choices.

I had the choice to go in, to see my boy, to hold him and let him know I loved him and would never stop. But if I did—if I do—then Peter Lukas can get at him. He’s so young, I know the—I know they don’t normally go for children, but…I worry. I can’t risk opening that door.

They keep appearing. More and more frequently. And now…the more attuned I am to the Light, the more I know what I’ll find on the other side. And it’s hard not to go through.

I can redirect them. Sometimes. Or maybe I can just open another one. One every…well. To me it’s one a year. But that’s the thing. As I said, time doesn’t move the same way in the desert that it does everywhere else. It’s been about a year, as far as you’re concerned, since I signed that contract and took the job. For me? It’s been more like ten. But I can a door and let it take me wherever I want. I’ve done it when the temptation is too strong. The last time was Christmas. (sighs) Wickie started in chorus this year. His first concert…I could have gone. Could have stayed in the back of the room, maybe, and just listened, just seen him. But what constitutes contact, what violates the contract? I couldn’t risk it. So I did the next best thing. I opened a door and went to Bournemouth and saw Walt’s boy. Didn’t talk, didn’t tell him who I was. Just stood on the shore next to him for a while. I wanted to…but I didn’t.

I don’t even know if he remembers. I couldn’t hurt him by giving him more memories. That would just make the loneliness worse when I did leave.

GERTRUDE

And you used one of these doors to come here.

KEEPER

That I did.

GERTRUDE

Why?

KEEPER

Thought you’d want to know. Honestly, I half didn’t expect to see you here. I assumed I’d have to wait for you, but your assistant—what was his name? The one that looks like he’s about twelve?

GERTRUDE

Michael.

KEEPER

Michael, aye. He told me you were in. Suppose it gets down to time being weird again.

How was it?

GERTRUDE

How was…what?

KEEPER

The funeral.

…You did go, didn’t you? Come on, Trudy, I know you’re all about keeping your past away from your present, but—

GERTRUDE

Don’t call me that. What are you talking about? What funeral?

KEEPER

Gertrude. What was Tuesday?

GERTRUDE

…My God.

KEEPER

Aye.

Lily wouldn’t be pleased to see me. Or you, for that matter. But Wickie…Lily’s making it all about herself, I’m sure. You know how she can be. I just…I hoped if I gave you my statement, you’d at least look in on him for me.

At least make sure he’s okay.

GERTRUDE

I…I’ll see what I can do.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

GERTRUDE

Final thoughts.

Well. I…I don’t know what to think. This is…useful information to have regarding the Lonely. And I’ll certainly be on the lookout for any old oak doors with brass fittings. But as for the rest…

I checked. Alastair Koskiewicz’s funeral was today, and I believe I have missed it. But I may be able to at least pay my respects. I will have to be discreet if I do. Lily made it very clear she wants nothing to do with me, and I have done my best to respect that. And I know I am…observed more often than I would like. The last thing I want is to draw anyone’s attention to Martin.

I don’t think I should tell him who I am.

And, since the Keeper’s statement mentioned it…I listened to Walter Sims’ statement again, and the dates he gave for both his own death and Alastair’s match exactly. I believe I will make one last attempt at reaching out to the Stoker family, especially now that Daniel will have been born. Perhaps they’ll be more likely to listen now. I don’t know what precautions they can take, but…they should (heh) at least have the choice. At the very least, perhaps they’ll be prepared when the time comes.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[STUNNED SILENCE, BROKEN ONLY BY THE SOUNDS OF SOMEONE—PROBABLY PAST MARTIN—STRUGGLING NOT TO CRY]

TIM

…Fuck.

PAST ARCHIVIST

I-I didn’t…I had no…oh, God.

PAST MARTIN

(tearfully) W-Walter Sims…was—was that—?

PAST ARCHIVIST

My father.

He—I never knew he—gave a statement. Or that he…

Was that the grandfather you told us about?

PAST MARTIN

Yeah.

[PAST MARTIN MAKES A SOUND—A LAUGH? A SOB? BOTH?]

Guess that explains the cherry thing, huh?

PAST ARCHIVIST

(softly) I guess so.

TIM

So—hah, so you two knew each other?

PAST MARTIN

I-I mean, we were two. That was…that was a long time ago. I didn’t—

PAST ARCHIVIST

No. Neither did I, I—

[FABRIC RUSTLES, A STARTLED “OOMPH” FROM SOMEONE WHO CLEARLY WASN’T EXPECTING AN ATTACK HUG]

PAST MARTIN

Sorry, I’m so sorry, I—

PAST ARCHIVIST

No, Martin, it’s not your fault, it’s—it’s not your fault.

It’s not your fault.

TIM

That statement…your dad’s statement. Do—do you think it’s…in here somewhere?

PAST ARCHIVIST

I don’t—I don’t know.

Basira, she, she said she got as many as she could. There might be some that—I don’t know, Tim.

PAST MARTIN

(uncertainly) W-we could—we could look?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Yes. Yes, if—if you could do that, that would…

I’m sorry. I-I need to—I’ll be right back.

TIM

Jon. Be careful, okay?

PAST ARCHIVIST

I’m just going outside. I’ll be fine.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[MUFFLED SOUNDS OF THE STREET]

PAST ARCHIVIST

(muttering to himself) …won’t be sensible…I know he worries, they both do. Last thing I need to do is make that worse, but God, after that—

BREEKON

‘Scuse us.

HOPE

Jonathan Sims?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Yeah, wh—? Oh, sh—

[THE PAST ARCHIVIST WHEEZES AND COUGHS AS THE WIND IS KNOCKED OUT OF HIM]

BREEKON

Miss Orsinov wants to see you.

HOPE

Says she changed her mind.

PAST ARCHIVIST

No, please, I—

[VAN DOOR SLIDES OPEN,  A LOUD THUNK AS THE PAST ARCHIVIST IS SHOVED INSIDE]

[DOORS CLOSE AND ENGINE STARTS]

PAST ARCHIVIST

Oh, God.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[HIGH HEELS CLICKING ACROSS A HARDWOOD FLOOR]

ELIAS/JONAH

Ah—Sasha.

[FOOTSTEPS STOP]

SASHA

Yes?

ELIAS/JONAH

Coming back from lunch?

SASHA

…Yes?

ELIAS/JONAH

I’m a bit busy today, so I don’t really have time to get down to the Archives. Please let Tim and Martin know that Jon will be out for a few days.

SASHA

…Sure.

Is…everything all right?

ELIAS/JONAH

Perfectly.

I just have something I need for him to do. It might take some time. I’m sure he’ll explain everything when he gets back, but meanwhile, do make sure your colleagues stay on task, will you? No doubt you have a lot to work on.

SASHA

Yeah, of course. We’ll keep things running smoothly while he’s gone.

ELIAS/JONAH

Thank you, Sasha. I knew I could count on you.

(under his breath) Reliable old Sasha.

SASHA

…Thank you.

[FOOTSTEPS RESUME, CHANGE TO A SLIGHTLY MORE HOLLOW SOUND AS IF SOMEONE IS WALKING DOWN STEPS, SLOW TO A STOP]

[SOUND OF NUMBERS BEING DIALED ON A PHONE]

[THREE TONES]

AUTOMATED INTERCEPT MESSAGE

The number you have reached is not currently in service. Please hang up and try again.

SASHA

Shit.

[CLICK]

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter Four: E-Stim

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Shane deals with the consequences of her email to her boss, both good and bad. A mortifying situation has an…unexpected outcome. Emotions run high in the fourth chapter of The Tx of Sy! Behind on the action? Catch up HERE! 

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Language, some angst and emotions. (Like I literally cried writing part of it) And like, an asshole boss…but if you stick it out with Susan, you won’t be disappointed.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys

 @cavillryarchive

 @summersong69

 @titty-teetee

 @bloodyinspiredfuck

 @agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

(you didn’t ask, but i took the liberty! Hope that’s okay!)

@tumblnewby @suavechops

Shane had spent her morning getting ready for work and treating her first patient with a whopping headache…maybe a small glass of wine would have been more responsible of her. But she slept like the dead, which was the goal.

She took a moment before her second patient to check her email…there was a reply from Susan.

Shane, come to my office at your next possible availability.

No "thank you" or "please" or "fuck you very much." just an order. Last she checked, SHE wasn't in the military. Since Heather wasn't in yet, she messaged the secretary on duty, Marsha, to see if she could find a way to make an opening in her morning. She wanted to get this meeting over with.

Sure, Shane. Looks like Cory could take your next patient, if you like. He's seen him before.

Perfect. Please make that change and block me for a meeting with Susan. Thank you so much.

She saw Cory walk by, and warned him. "Cory, I'm having Marsha move Mr. Greenbaum to you next hour. I need to meet with Susan about something." she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, shit. Okay. No problem." Cory knew all too well the fuckery that a Susan meeting could entail.

"I really appreciate it. I owe you big time."

"Nah, Mr. G is cool. We just talk about huntin' and stuff."

"He'll probably like that we switched, then." she laughed. And headed for what felt like the principal's office. Bleak and miserable.

She knocked on the door, and was told in an all too cheerful manner to come in.

"Hey!"

"Morning Susan."

"Close the door and have a seat, Shane."

She typed away for a moment before fully engaging…as was her way. She thought it gave her the power. It really just annoyed the fuck out of everyone.

"So, tell me what's going on with this patient you emailed me about."

"Well, he's an ACL and MCL tear, traumatic, plus a dislocated patella. He did it during a mission in Iraq. Ummm, he's improving a lot. Potter did the surgery. He had him keep the crutches about two weeks longer than we thought he would, but--"

"No I mean…this relationship. What's the deal, here?"

"Oh, there's not much to say about it, really. He's been fairly flirty from pretty early on. I've been able to ignore it, but to be honest, I think he's a really great guy, and I think he deserves better than me ignoring his advances, especially when, to be honest Susan, the feelings he has for me are not unrequited." her heart was racing. More than if Sy had been in the room flirting with her, but so much less pleasant.

"I don't think you should see this guy until the treatment is over. What if it doesn't work out and he doesn't want to come here anymore because of you." That hurt…not that it wasn't rattling around in her head, too.

"Well, Susan, to be honest, that's one reason I haven't spoken up about this already. I have that fear. But he's been very adamant about it lately, and it's been on my mind a lot, and I think I owe it to the both of us to see it through."

"I think I should call this guy. Let me pull him up."

She gave her his details to get his information pulled up in their system. God, this was embarrassing. She should have known this nightmare was coming.

"Hello?" a gravelly bark came across the speakerphone.

"Hello, Mr. Syverson?"

"Captain Syverson, yes, Ma'am." She wasn't expecting him to pull rank…and he did it so politely.

"Sorry, Captain Syverson. My name is Susan DeForrest, I'm the manager here at Fort Wood Therapy Clinic. How are you this morning?"

"This side of the daisies ain't worth complainin. What can I do ya for, ma'am?"

"Well, I have Miss Benton, your therapist here in a meeting. You're on speaker."

"Hey Sy." Shane mewled sheepishly.

"Hey there, Shane." she could hear the smile in his voice. She didn't know if Susan could.

"She's saying that the two of you would like to see each other socially, outside of therapy."

"Oh, that's not quite the words I'd use, ma'am, but I s'pose you're technically correct."

"And she's explained to you that this facility has a policy in place regarding such fraternization?" What a load of bullshit she was shoveling. Making it sound so sinister and clandestine what she and Sy were trying to start up. Like espionage. This woman…

"I'm aware that certain policies exist like that to protect patients or customers, and more frequently the staff from situations that could present problems for both or either parties. I am not aware that a strict policy exists to police your staff in such a stringent manner. In fact, I know the opposite to be true."

"Excuse me?" Susan asked, shell shocked.

"See, them policies o' yours, they're all available online. Public knowledge. Even your personnel ones. Now, y'all have a nice and thorough handbook, I mean, I have been up all night just pouring over this like honey on toast, and I can tell you, I ain't findin' a word about y'all not being allowed to date your patients."

"Well, it's in policy number…"

"Nope, you were gonna say 47, subsection 2, part b. But that just says that you shouldn't treat anyone you're close to (i.e. friend, relative, or significant other) if you can't maintain objectivity or your own comfortability. Now, if I'd make Shane uncomfortable, or if she lost her objectivity over me, I'd be devastated. Shane, do I or do you think I could make you uncomfortable or unobjective?" he was laying it on so thick. If she hadn't been falling for him, this would have done it.

"I don't think so, Sy." She held back a smile…but not well.

"There ya have it. Miss DeForrest, I trust that Shane is free to live her life in the way she sees fit?"

"Well, I still think she should wait…" Susan started, but was cut off again by Sy.

"Because you see, I've seen a lot of young people fail to grow old. A lot of people waitin' to do things…they never ended up doin'. This life…it can be real, real short, Miss DeForrest. And I'm not keen on waitin' to be happy when I could be happy right now. Have I made myself clear enough for you? Or do I need to go to the next link in the chain of command here?" The emotion and resolve in his voice was completely shattering. He wasn't crying. But Shane and Susan both were. And then suddenly, Susan sniffed herself into composure and answered him with dignity.

"No, Captain Syverson. That will not be necessary. Shane…is free, of course, to socialize with whomever she sees fit so long as it doesn't affect anyone's treatment adversely. Thank you for your time, candor, and perspective, sir."

"I'm glad to help Shane. She's helped me more than any therapist I've ever had. We clicked immediately. I knew she was somethin' special. But getting to know her over the last few weeks has shown me what true happiness could feel like…I'd forgotten that over in Iraq. She gave that back to me. I'd like to thank her properly."

"I think she'd like that too. Thank you, sir." Susan hung up the phone without letting them say goodbye to each other, but Shane was an utter mess, and unable to form coherent words right now, anyway.

"Wow." Susan exclaimed.

"Yeah." Shane sniffed into a tissue, dabbing her eyes and then blowing her nose loudly, and unapologetically.

"Did he say he spent the whole night reading our policies?" Susan asked, not sure she heard him right.

"That's what I understood." Shane was somehow not surprised.

"Did you tell him to do that?"

"I didn't even know the policies were online, nor did I know you'd pull him in to our meeting…I didn't even know we were having one until twenty minutes ago."

"Right…fair. Sorry, I'm still…off-put by all of that." She had been beaten…and it wasn't familiar or comfortable.

"So, are we finished here?" Shane inquired, tentative about the state of mind her boss was in.

"Yes, go on and take the rest of the hour for continuing ed or whatever." She was normally much more composed…Sy had really gotten to her. She loved it.

Shane hurried back to her treatment room. She had to call him.

"Hello?" that same gravelly voice now confused as he'd just hung up with her, basically.

"May I speak to the great hero Captain Syverson, please?"

"Sunshine. How ya doin'?"

"Did you really stay up all night last night to read our entire employee manual?"

"I wanted the straight up, true life details about this policy that could mess up my future."

"I think you broke my boss's brain. She was still stewing when I left. She thought I told you where to find all that and what not. I didn't even know you could find it online. Plus, I didn't know we'd be meeting or that she'd drag you into a personnel matter. She's the worst. And you're literally my hero for beating her down like you did."

"Hey, ya know, she started it. I just finished it."

"You sure did. And how!"

"So…since we're all legal now…"

"Is the magic gone since it's not forbidden?" she laughed.

"Oh, I was gonna say, yeah, I think this may be a mistake. Sorry."

They both giggled.

"I'm free after work on Friday." she suggested.

"Not anymore, you're not. Bring some nice clothes and change when you're done. I'll pick you up after. Just text me when you're about ready?"

"You haven't given me your number, Sy."

"It's in my chart, dork."

"You have to officially give it to me."

"Oh I'll give it to ya, baby." He'd dug deep into the bass part of his register for that one.

"Syyyyy." she groaned.

"Oh, you already know I like it when you say my name."

"I'm being serious right now, what's your damn number or the date is off." She bluffed.

"Not because I believe that idle threat, but because I wanna…give it to ya." he rattled off the number.

"Okay, I'll be texting you with mine. Now, I have work today, so if you text me and don't get an immediate response, you know that's why."

"I'm not your only patient? I'm hurt, Shane."

"I know, that's why you've been coming to therapy for weeks."

"Har-Har, good thing I'm not into you for your sense of humor."

"Good thing I'm not into you for your looks, since 80% of your face is obscured by hair."

"We could go all day like this."

"The stamina." she teased.

"Well, look who joined the game!" he sounded almost proud.

"Don't think I haven't been participating silently for…a while."

"How long?" he inquired

"Isn't that my line?" she laughed at the penis joke she'd just made.

"You'll find out soon enough, and you won't be laughing. How long?"

"Well, you remember your evaluation."

"I do."

"Yeah…then." she bleated, too shy to say so with pride.

"No way! You mean you've liked me all this time too! And haven't said shit!?"

"I had to be professional, Sy! I didn't want to! Damn! You've gotta know how much I didn't want to be professional."

"I'll forgive ya, I guess, lil' lady."

"Merciful of you, sir!" she chuckled. "I'll need to go here soon. Won't be long now until my next one gets here."

"Tease me with a 'sir' then cut me off. Cruel."

"You like 'sir,' huh?" she whispered.

"I do. Yes…I…do."

"Noted. Well, until tomorrow."

"Don't forget to text me. I want you to give it to me too." he chuckled.

"Oh, you're bad."

"But, I'm real, real good sunshine." The deep rich promise in his voice did not go unnoticed.

"Bye Sy."

"Later Shane."

She hung up and texted him immediately. A selfie. He replied in kind. He seemed to be home on his couch, Aika by his side…he was not wearing a shirt…well…this day would be eternal.

Up Next: Chapter Five- Sensory Integration 1

[percabeth4life]

Shrouds of Betrayal

I was kinda pissed when I was rereading the books and read the funeral shroud scene. Percy risked his life and the Ares cabin made him a joke of a shroud. I didn't think his reaction was realistic, not in the slightest, so I've adjusted it.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

We were the first heroes to return alive to Half-Blood Hill since Luke, so of course everybody treated us as if we’d won some reality-TV contest. According to camp tradition, we wore laurel wreaths to a big feast prepared in our honor, then led a procession down to the bonfire, where we got to burn the burial shrouds our cabins had made for us in our absence…

Or well, the shrouds Annabeth’s cabin made for her and… what was made for me…

Annabeth’s was beautiful, you could see the love and care they put into it. It was made of the finest grey silk, owls embroidered in intricate patterns that almost seemed to shape a city.

Mine… mine was made by the Ares cabin, they were the only cabin willing to make it.

My stomach twisted looking at it even as I plastered a smile on my face.

It’s obvious no one really cared if I lived or died, my shroud alone shows how little anyone cared about me at this camp.

My shroud was made out of an old yellowing bedsheet, the border painted with red smiley faces with X’ed-out eyes. In the center was the word LOSER painted really big.

We burned it, and I pretended I wasn’t affected by it, but it really did hurt.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

The days that followed were so weird. Everyone was being so nice to me, they all wanted to be friends.

But they left me alone before? Actively refused to be around me? But now that I’m some hero they want to spend time with me?

I avoided them.

I scheduled my activities to avoid the other cabins, except the Athena cabin (because Annabeth is there).

It was so weird, how much everyone tried to spend time with me. Before the quest they avoided me at all costs.

I talked with Grover still of course, my one real friend (I’m friends with Annabeth but she doesn’t understand why I’m avoiding everyone, Grover at least seems to understand, or at least not talk about it).

He joined me for activities and stuff, at least until the Fourth of July, when he left for his quest to find Pan.

Then I was alone.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

My dreams were filled with the pit, whispers from the ancient, evil voice down there (Kronos).

He pointed out how I was treated, tossed aside, taken back when I was suddenly useful.

I have to say, he’s not good at manipulation, but he’s not even trying really. He’s just… honest.

Nothing that he says is wrong.

The Gods don’t care about me (Didn’t Zeus send monster after me when I was on this quest for him? Didn’t he send that lightning bolt down at the beginning? Doesn’t Mr. D show no care for us? Doesn’t he get our names wrong constantly? Didn’t Hades threaten my mother and me? Didn’t he promise us eternal torment for something I didn’t do?).

The campers don’t care about me (Didn’t they toss me aside the moment my parent was revealed? Maybe they were scared, but none of them stood by me. Only Grover would talk to me still. Didn’t they avoid me? Change activity times to stay away? Refuse to work with me? Wasn’t I abandoned?).

Why do I stay here? Because it’s safe? Is it really?

Kronos whispered in my ear, and this time I didn’t send him away.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

The end of camp was coming, they’d sent us forms to fill out to decide what we’d do (and if you don’t then you get eaten, the care is underwhelming).

I kept my head down and kept working (the only one that I still spent time with really was Luke, he’s the only one who didn’t leave me before the quest, the only one to support me besides Grover).

I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m not staying at camp.

I trained and trained, I need to survive out there (because I don’t know if I’ll come back to camp, not now not ever).

Luke taught me more tricks, I beat him some spars now, he told me stories, talked about his quest and what he thought (he didn’t like the Gods, I’d gained an understanding of him at this point, he is very against the Gods).

I trained and trained and pretended everything was okay (the other campers had stopped trying to get close to me, I heard them whisper about me being stuck up, about me thinking I’m too good for them. I didn’t know how to say that it was them that left me first).

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

I laid in bed and listened to Kronos’ whispers, I listened and closed my eyes.

choose

What do I choose?

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Annabeth was getting frustrated with me, I know she was, but I can’t help my feelings.

I know why they avoided me, logically I do.

I can’t help but feel that they only care for me so long as I do what they think is good.

I don’t want to live my life for them.

I won’t live my life for them.

I turned back to Luke.

I started to avoid Annabeth too.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

I thought of Zeus’ comments when I gave him his stolen Bolt.

I thought of how everyone was so worried about me existing.

I thought of how Kronos would mention a prophecy when no other would (he whispers a lot in my dreams, and a lot of it is so true it hurts).

I thought of how alone I was.

I thought of my choice.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

Luke asked to do once last hunt through the woods before camp ended, he offered me a smile and held his mortal-killer monster-killer sword.

We went into the woods and killed nothing.

I had my backpack because I had already packed.

We sat and drank some coke.

He asked me to choose.

He asked me to leave.

He held out his hand.

I thought of my choice, of the Gods, of the campers.

I took his hand.

OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO OO

When the world tells you that you are nothing

Unless you bow to their whims

Do you bow

Or do you stand on your own

[the-angst-witch]

Pinky Promises

I can’t help but think of my crotchety old grandma, in her fluffy dressing gown, with that tone and that expression, saying “Oh child of mine, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

That’s all I can picture at the moment, because honestly? I have no earthly clue what I’m doing. I’m going sixty down a highway to God only knows where, (well God and my GPS) but I’m, conservatively, 93% sure that my truck is haunted. Why you might ask? Well, first off, I’ve been driving for 100 miles and for every single one a little black magpie has been flying alongside the window. Secondly my radio’s been on the fritz and the more I drive the weirder it gets. Doesn’t matter what buttons I push it won’t turn off or change the station. I know what you’re thinking “Hey dummy you drive a 30-year-old truck what’d you expect?” I’m thinking O ye of little faith it just gets weirder. The radio station it’s stuck on is completely random. It doesn’t seem to have any specific genre. First it was “The Wanderer” by Dion, then “Lonely Boy” by The Black Keys, now it’s playing “Trouble” by Taylor Swift. Oh, and it’s not just the weird song selections! There aren’t any radio hosts. There’s not even a single corny commercial. So, at my last gas stop I googled the radio station, because WTF right? And drum roll please… It doesn’t exist…it’s supposed to be dead air according to google. And you know, that’s totally comforting.

Another hundred miles and the Magpie has started singing along to the radio. Well to be honest he may have been singing along the entire time and I just haven’t noticed. I started driving with the window down to drown out some of the music, and lo and behold the Magpie has decided to trill along with it. Which is mildly terrifying in its own right, but aside from that I can’t seem to escape the radio. The last song was “I Cross My Heart” by George Strait, and now it’s blaring “10,000 Promises” by Backstreet Boys and the Magpie is frankly impressive in his ability to trill and shriek along with the radio over the sound of the roaring wind. At first, I didn’t want to open the window because I was worried the flyer in my passenger seat would fly out, but I put my phone on it and that seems to be doing the trick. Which is good because the wind is the only thing that seems to drown out the other noises even a little bit.

Another hundred miles and the radio is glitching out even more than it was before. It stopped reading out the names and artists of the songs, and I can’t recognize them anymore. The Magpie is still singing along though. My window is still open. If I close it the music is too loud, the volume just seems to go up every time I try to turn it down. The more miles I put behind me the more missing posters I see plastered everywhere in front. It’s a blur of big red letters and faces I don’t have a hope of remembering. I hope they get found; it hurts to be lost.

Another hundred miles and I’ve stopped at a crappy No-Tell Motel for the night because my brain feels like it’s been put through a blender and I can’t see straight anymore. I’ve named my Magpie finally though. He’s My Lonely Ghost, because nobody else really seems to be able to see him. The last gas station I stopped at he followed me into the store. Not a single person so much as blinked at the sight. The guy at the motel check in desk didn’t even react when Lonely Ghost landed right in front of him. I was starting to panic, but then the couple that checked in after me noticed him. The guy had crazy pink hair and the girl had these unsettling silvery eyes, I know they saw him because they were both staring right at him. I wanted to talk to them just to be sure, but they disappeared before I could. As deeply concerning as all this might sound, I’m still kind of happy Lonely Ghost decided to come along for the ride. If he hadn’t, I might be a lonely ghost myself.

Another hundred miles down the road and the missing posters are getting more and more common. Something’s twisting in my gut. I tried googling the songs that the radio’s been playing for the last 200 miles and according to google, much like the radio station, they don’t exist. Hell, I even tried Shazam, and let me just say that despite the name, that app did not magically shazam even an iota of this situation back into rationality. But hey I may have been expecting a bit much from a $2.99 app. Either way My Lonely Ghost remains the world’s best avian karaoke singer and the wind has yet to mess with the poster in my passenger seat, despite the fact that nothing is holding it down anymore.

Eighty-two more miles and twenty-three to go and My Lonely Ghost has gained a friend. A second Magpie has joined our little adventure squad. He sings too. The farther I drive the more missing posters I see. Some of them are so old the faces have been worn by the weather enough that they don’t even look human anymore. Others look like the ink’s still bleeding.

Eighteen miles to go and another Magpie has joined our group. The posters are stacked so thickly on top of each other I can’t tell what color some of the walls are supposed to be.

Sixteen miles to go and Lonely Ghost has gained a third companion.

Twelve miles to go and it looks like a ghost town. A fourth has joined us. They all sing.

Nine miles to go and I’m running out of time, the sun is getting low. A fifth has joined the choir and the music hurts.

Six miles to go, and the GPS dies, the radio…doesn’t. A final Magpie Joins lonely Ghost and his fleet. I don’t think the music is music anymore…it’s just…

Three miles to go and there’s barely fumes in the tank. There’s a gas station on the horizon and it feels like salvation to see the sign. The music finally stops when I kill the engine and I’m so relieved it feels like I’m a puppet whose strings have been cut. My Lonely Ghost and his fleet land on the roof and the windshield, they stay there when I head towards the station. Before I go inside, I stop at a little stall out front run by a withered old woman selling odds and ends. She has maps, silver bells, iron trinkets, and red, red, ribbons for sale. She rattles on in a croaking voice about all the things on her table. I pay for a map and she’s only too happy to point out all the best Diner’s in town. When I ask her where the Oak Woods are, she goes so still she might as well have turned to stone. A breeze catches one of the silver bells and she meets my eyes, but she looks so sad that I want to steal the question back from the air. She says, “Oh honey, folk’s ‘round here don’t visit the Oak Woods.”

I don’t ask her why.

All the miles of towns drowning in the missing told me why.

When she sees My Lonely Ghosts, she presses handfuls of iron trinkets into my palms and she says, “Oh Child, what have you gotten yourself into?” Something shivers down my spine, but I just take the map and I keep driving. I just keep driving.

The Oak Woods are three miles west, I park my car on the side of the road and I just keep walking. My Lonely Ghosts fly ahead, just in my line of sight. I know I’ve made it when the tree’s fade into a meadow. The grass is yellowed and dying but plump pomegranate bushes are scattered about sucking up all the life for their fruit. There’s one big oak tree in the middle and it’s surrounded by an ouroboros of mushrooms.

There’s a pretty girl sitting up in the oak tree. She has eyes like the last day of summer and she doesn’t smile with her teeth. She sits in the crook of two branches like it’s a throne built for her to rule from. Her hands are covered in red from the pomegranate she’s picking apart. The smeared remains of others litter the grass in front of her. The shadows are writhing and whispering and it’s getting louder as dusk is getting closer. I want to look, but she demands attention. That pretty girl tells me to ignore the things that are whispering in the corners of my eyes, and I listen. I listen because this pretty girl up in the oak tree has been living on the missing flyer in my passenger seat for the last 600 miles.

She doesn’t smile with her teeth. “Haven’t you missed me?” she says.

My Lonely Ghosts have stopped singing. I can’t help but look to see why. They’ve attacked one of the bushes, and they look more like carrion crows than magpies now that their feathers are coated in the ruby red of the pomegranate’s insides.

I shouldn’t have looked.

I saw the things that were shifting and whispering in the corners of my eyes and they…they were never human.

I hear a humming sound and I snap my gaze back to my pretty girl up in the oak tree. Only she’s not in the oak tree anymore. She’s standing at the edge of the ouroboros and smiling with her teeth. She holds out her hand offering me seven perfect pomegranate seeds, her lips have that wicked tilt to them as she grins.

That tilted grin came for the first time at six years old with red popsicles and a pinky promise at dawn that we’d be friends forever.

It’s the same from when we were nine and gorging on strawberries, and another sticky-fingered promise came at three in the afternoon for a secret that I can never tell.

(That was when my grandma first told me that promises were dangerous. That they shouldn’t be given so lightly. But I just laughed, and I laughed, because what could I possibly fear from her? She promised too. Didn’t she?)

It was the expression she had when we were twelve and it was red velvet cupcakes and frosting covered fingers at eight in the evening, and promising we’ll never let anyone tear us apart.

It was the smile from when we were sixteen, and it was cherry colas and cold fingers at one in the morning, when I swore, I’d love her till the day I die.

(That was the millionth time my grandma begged me to understand what I was giving away with every promise. She said, “Oh child, soon that girl will own you, body and soul!” and I laughed, and I laughed, because I’d have ripped my heart out to give it to her if she’d asked.)

It was that same sharpness that came at eighteen with stolen red wine coolers, feverish hands and a promise that I’d follow her into hell.  

It’s that same glint in her apocalyptic eyes that she had at exactly midnight sixty-five days and twelve hours ago. When it was a split lip, linked fingers and everything I had left.

I can’t help but think of my crotchety old grandma in her fluffy dressing gown with that tone and that expression, saying “Oh child of mine, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

[silenceandpatiencepining]

overshare time (because literally all of my friends and family and twitter followers are so sick of hearing about this) re: my ex that’s not my ex because we never actually dated

Okay so we met in middle school at our church youth group and became friends in what was basically high school Sunday school (for confirmation), and then our senior year we both volunteered to help run the middle school youth group where we’d first me. Almost every week after youth group we would walk out to our cars together or around the same time and end up talking in the parking lot for an hour or longer, just laughing, shootin the shit. I’d liked him for a while but like really caught feelings that year. We stayed friends when I went off to college out of state and I would send him honest to god handwritten letters in the mail. He got super flaky and sucked at texting me back and eventually I was like, listen, I’m not gonna put up with this. And he was like, you’re one of the only people that would actually call me on my shit and I appreciate that, and then for a while he actually got better. Then right around Valentine’s Day I admitted my feelings after sending a super heartfelt gift in the mail and he responded by saying he felt like we should just be friends, he didn’t feel the same way, and we shouldn’t talk for a while. So we didn’t, for like 6 months. He had a minor mental breakdown and realized he had shitty friends. I was sad about things but studied abroad and had the time of my life traveling. Then right before I went back to college he said he missed me. We reconnected and talked things though and said that we could get past this whole me liking him thing. I had gotten over my romantic feelings by then and truly just wanted my friend back. So we said we’d go back to friendship as it was. And then things were basically back to normal. We would call and text and when I was back home during breaks and stuff, we would hang out but it was lowkey like coupley activities sometimes. Like there was the usual friend hang outs like going to the movies and grabbing food and playing board games and shopping for records and stuff, but he like also took me to an Alice and wonderland themed tea house, and we went antique shopping, and picked out crazy things together at thrift shops, and picked out picture frames to gift to his grandma for her birthday, and adopted some plants and he let me name them. Anyway, things were totally normal and then one year during Fourth of July week he said he was gonna call at a certain time and then didn’t. And I literally never heard from him again. At first I thought it was just a scheduling thing or timing but I kept messaging as usual and even invited him to go on a cheap last minute trip with me at the end of the summer before I went back to school and nothing. Just nothing. Not like a ‘hey sorry I forgot to call’ or ‘I’m not really interested’ or ‘maybe we can’t be friends after all’. Like, that one forgotten call after things had been going so well for so long, and then just bam, ghosted. And that was over a year and half ago!

It was so confusing when this first happened and I kept waiting for him to call or text back but then he just didn’t and I went through all the stages of grief and I deleted him from everything and was just so sad and mad. He had been flaky before and I always just thought that he would reply eventually. And then more time kept passing with nothing. I hadn’t seen or heard anything for so long I legit thought he could’ve died and I just wouldn’t know. I sent him a Christmas present. No response. A few months later, I sent him a birthday present, because every year I’d pick out a quirky/niche book. Again, no response. I gave things some time and didn’t reach out for a while. More nothing. Tried checking in to ask if something went wrong. Nothing. Apologized even though I didn’t do anything. Nothing. Gave things more time and then tried to be like hey, it’s been a while let’s catch up. Still nothing. Added him back on social, he accepted the follow request but didn’t follow back. Uh okay. I respond to his insta stories, left on seen.

It’s literally such a mindfuck. And what I hate is that even though this has just shown me that he doesn’t give a shit about me, and even though I know that there is nothing he can say that would fix the hurt I felt for the past almost two years, I still can’t completely get him out of my head. I thought I was finally really starting to move on and then a couple weeks ago I randomly had a dream about him and us making up and then I got confused and started missing him again. And anyway, now we are here. Me, still ghosted and still thinking about things.

I KNOW closure doesn’t exist but I hate hate hate the feeling of him holding the power in this situation. Like I could process him saying “I never want to talk to you again” or “I thought you still had feelings and thought it was easier to cut things off” or “I outgrew our friendship” —anything really, but the fact that he just disappeared makes it feel so impossible to just leave this in the past. It feels like it never ended.

Anyway, today (yesterday bc it is now 4am) was the anniversary of an album that super important to both of us for such a long time and I tagged him in a post and again NOTHING.

I was in love with him, and then he was a close friend, and now there’s just nothing. It would almost be easier if we bitterly split up but he really just walked out on something like 7 years of friendship without so much as a call or text.

Sooo basically I’m just thinking about things again, rehashing every memory, thinking about where I went wrong, but mostly wondering why it’s so hard to forget him.

I used to think of him when I’d sing IFTYE but now I am painfully aware that he still exists and I hate my brain for remembering him so well.

[mrsronan]

Last Thursday (March 7) I got to speak to a large Women’s Bible Study in San Francisco. I attended the study for three years and have quite a few friends still involved. Here’s what I said. (Health update and other details below the speech.) Also, it won't hurt my feelings at all if you skip the speech and just read the health update. :)

_________________________________________

I’m thankful I get to be here with you ladies this morning. You are always such a blessing. Malene and Karen invited me to give an update on how I’m doing. Most of you know me, but let me introduce myself to those of you I’m not yet acquainted with. My husband and I grew up in Cincinnati Ohio, I’ve served as a missionary to Haiti and spent two years teaching in China. My husband and I believed God called us to San Francisco so we moved here four months after we got married in 2006. When we got here everything that could go wrong went wrong, including losing our housing on the same day I found out I was unexpectedly pregnant. That surprise pregnancy led me to seek help at Alpha Pregnancy Center, the pregnancy ended in miscarriage but I never forgot that Alpha was ready to walk with me and find solutions to all of my concerns. Later I went back to Alpha, but as a staff member and I eventually became the director. I spent almost a decade running that ministry until I was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer and had to resign.  I’ve been going through chemo and radiation treatments since July 2016.  

Before I give you an update on my health I want to tell you a story that will explain my perspective on this challenge.*  

The day I arrived at my new home in Haiti where I would live for a year, I walked into a house that had been robbed. Everything was gone- furniture, curtains, dishes, everything except the kitchen sink. I had met my roommate for the year one day earlier, Shelley lived in the house the year before and knew our neighbors well. She assured me that since we were back and our neighbors loved her, the house would now be safe and nothing more would be stolen. I didn’t believe her. We had just a couple hours to drop our things off before needing to leave for a meeting at the school where we’d be teaching. On my way out the door for the meeting, I silently prayed, “Lord, if our house gets robbed tonight, please don’t let them take my radio, my guitar, or the vase from Morocco Kellie gave me.”

When we got home that night, our house had been ravished. Clothes were strewn everywhere, Shelley’s nice camera— gone. The sheets off our other roommate’s bed— gone. I made it to my room in the back of the house and did a quick scan of my bedroom: my radio was there, check; my guitar was there, check; my vase— gone! What!? Didn’t God hear my prayer? Why would the thieves want my vase anyway? It was just a small memento that wouldn’t mean anything to anyone but me. My heart sank. I felt robbed. But just as quickly as my heart sank, the Holy Spirit began to speak: “Chastidy, I didn’t bring you here this year to look at that vase. I am the same whether or not that vase is on top of your dresser. I haven’t changed and I am worthy of your praise with or without that vase.” My heart responded, “Oh, check. Yes, Lord, I trust you. I’ll praise you. Thanks for being the same and being good no matter what I’ve lost.” A moment later, a fellow teacher who had come to help walked in the door and said, “I found this on the street, does this belong to you?” and held up my vase.

That small momentary loss and the Holy Spirit speaking to my heart taught me how to get through larger losses that aren’t temporary. When my mom was murdered, when I had multiple miscarriages, when my marriage has been difficult, and many other times of loss I’ve gone back to that moment and remembered God is the same no matter what I might be losing. 

To be honest, the months since November have been filled with loss.  

My grandfather died because of lung cancer. 

Five of my other friends have died as well (three cancer related deaths).

My landlord promised me a bigger apartment and even gave me the keys then changed her mind and took the keys back. 

The clinical trial I’ve been on has stopped shrinking my tumors. (More on this below) 

But amidst these tragedies there have been some triumphs. 

I was given the Gianna Molla award and spoke to 50,000 people. 

My daughter turned 3 and sweetly told me I set up her party so nice and perfect. 

I turned 40 even though some medical professionals never thought I’d live this long. My husband, family, and friends threw me two surprise birthday parties. 

So I find myself responding to all of this in a few ways

Crying out to God in mourning and in thanksgiving. 

Praying for others as well as myself. 

Singing Amazing Grace and really meaning every word of all 7 verses.

Returning to scripture and asking God to keep His word as the foundation of my heart.

Some of the verses that I’m returning to over and over have become anthems for me that I go to daily to set my heart and mind in the right place.  

Hebrews 13.8 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Reminding me that with or without cancer, God is still worthy of praise. For me, all these efforts to get treatment and extend my life are primarily for my three year old little girl. I don’t want her to have the pain of growing up with out her mom. But, this verse reminds me that God is the same and worthy of our praise even if she does grow up with out a mom.

I also go back to the story of Shadrach Meshach and Abednego from Daniel 3. 

You probably remember the story well. Everyone in their town was  told to bow down and worship a false god. The punishment for refusing was to be thrown into a fiery furnace. Everyone worshipped the gold statue, but Shadrach Meshach and Abednego refused to follow suit. Some people told the king and he was furious. 

Here’s how the Message version of the Bible tells the rest of the story:

The king questioned them and gave them a second chance to obey.

16-18 Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered King Nebuchadnezzar, “Your threat means nothing to us. If you throw us in the fire, the God we serve can rescue us from your roaring furnace and anything else you might cook up, O king. But even if he doesn’t, it wouldn’t make a bit of difference, O king. We still wouldn’t serve your gods or worship the gold statue you set up.”

19-23 Nebuchadnezzar, his face purple with anger, cut off Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. He ordered the furnace fired up seven times hotter than usual. He ordered some strong men to tie them up, hands and feet, and throw them into the roaring furnace. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, bound hand and foot, fully dressed from head to toe, were pitched into the roaring fire. Because the king was in such a hurry and the furnace was so hot, flames from the furnace killed the men who carried Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego to it, while the fire raged around Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

24 Suddenly King Nebuchadnezzar jumped up in alarm and said, “Didn’t we throw three men, bound hand and foot, into the fire?”

“That’s right, O king,” they said.

25 “But look!” he said. “I see four men, walking around freely in the fire, completely unharmed! And the fourth man looks like a son of the gods!”

Some people say that is Jesus; I love that even though they were in a literal fire, they weren’t in it alone.  They had to go through the fire, but Jesus went through it with them.

26 Nebuchadnezzar went to the door of the roaring furnace and called in, “Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, servants of the most High God, come out here!”

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego walked out of the fire.

27 Everyone gathered around to examine them and discovered that the fire hadn’t so much as touched the three men—not a hair singed, not a scorch mark on their clothes, not even the smell of fire on them! 

Next the king praises God. Shadrach Meshach and Abednego’s fiery challenge 

Gives the king a fiery passion to praise God.

28 Nebuchadnezzar said, “Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego! He sent his angel and rescued his servants who trusted in him! They ignored the king’s orders and laid their bodies on the line rather than serve or worship any god but their own.

29 “Therefore I issue this decree: no one should speak against the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. No other god can pull off a rescue like this.”

Friends, I’m in a battle where I can say— Only God can pull off the kind of rescue I need. 

But, I’d bet half my bank account most of you have felt that too.  Maybe you’ve had severe health issues,  maybe you’ve needed the courage to leave an abusive relationship,  maybe you’ve had the sorrow of losing a child,  maybe you’ve been plagued with overwhelming anxiety… 

I’m guessing that everyone of you have had a time when you thought, “only God can rescue me from this.” 

I look back at all those trials I mentioned earlier and see, yes, He jumped into the fire with me on all of them and pulled me out and actually it made me stronger than before.  So, right now, in this fire of cancer, I’m looking to the God who has rescued me time and time again and saying “I know you are able to rescue me, and I believe you will, but even if you don’t I will still praise you.”

The final scripture I return to as an anthem I’ve read with you before. Psalm 118. 

I’d like to share some of it with you again today

Psalm 118

1 Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;

    his love endures forever.

2 Let Israel say:

    “His love endures forever.”

3 Let the house of Aaron say:

“His love endures forever.”

4  Let those who fear the Lord say:

    “His love endures forever.”

5 When hard pressed, I cried to the Lord;

    he brought me into a spacious place.

6 The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid.

    What can mere mortals do to me?

7 The Lord is with me; he is my helper.

 …

8 It is better to take refuge in the Lord

    than to trust in humans.

9 It is better to take refuge in the Lord

    than to trust in princes.

I’m saying it’s better to trust in the Lord 

than medicine or doctors

13 I was pushed back and about to fall,

    but the Lord helped me.

14 The Lord is my strength and my defense[a];

    he has become my salvation.

15 Shouts of joy and victory

    resound in the tents of the righteous:

17 I will not die but live,

    and will proclaim what the Lord has done.

21 I will give you thanks, for you answered me;

    you have become my salvation.

27 The Lord is God,

    and he has made his light shine on us.

…

28 You are my God, and I will praise you;

    you are my God, and I will exalt you.

29 Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;

    his love endures forever.

 Verse 17 is something I’ve especially clung to. 

At first I thought, I will live and not die so that when I am healed from cancer I can tell the miraculous story of how God healed me and what seemed impossible with man is possible with God. And, that is still what I’m counting on. 

But, I’ve begun to think I’m alive today. I can tell what God has done today. I can tell you today that He has been with me in the trenches of every fire I’ve had to walk through, and he has used them all for the good of many lives and souls. 

And, when I return to scripture it allows me to fix my thoughts on Jesus. He endured the cross scorning its shame for the joy that was set before him. And remembering that He did that, and being bought with his blood gives me the strength to be content in a small apartment, to endure the disease of cancer, and to get through the other pains that come with life in a fallen world but doing so with joy because of the promise of a glorious eternity. 

Two nights ago, as I was putting my daughter to bed we were singing “what can wash a way my sins” and she stopped me mid song and said, “Mommy mommy, the blood of Jesus, it can heal everything. Even if you die it can heal you.” 

If I could leave you with any thought this morning it would be that. The blood of Jesus can heal anything you have going on in your life. Remember He never changes even when our circumstances do, lay your burdens at the foot of His cross, and let His blood bringing healing to your life.  

_________________________________________

HEALTH UPDATE

So, what does it mean for me that the clinical trial isn’t shrinking my tumors? To catch some of you up to speed on what I’ve done before I answer that, I’ve already done 3 kinds of chemo and radiation. The clinical trial I’ve been in is my fourth form of treatment. There are no other FDA approved treatments that have been effective at treating my kind of cancer. I have a biopsy scheduled for Thursday. The results of the biopsy will show if the immunotherapy trial I’ve been on has changed the genetic make up of my tumors. If it has I can continue on the trial. If it hasn’t then I’ll need to start searching for other clinical trials or treatments at different hospitals and clinics. My oncologist thinks I’ll have to begin a search for other clinical trials. She is willing to help me. My family might have to move in order for me to continue to have effective treatment options. I’m really hoping that I won’t have to move, but if we do have to move there’s a promising clinical trial in Cleveland that I’m looking into which would get me closer to my family and I’d be thankful for that. Yet, I am willing to go wherever I need to get treatments. I’ll try to write a short update after I get my biopsy results. 

Separately I had a chalazion in my eye. It has healed. 

OTHER UPDATES

I’m still a super Warriors fan and even though they’ve had a few embarrassing losses recently they are still number 1 in the western conference and still the favorites to be champions this year. 

I lead prayer in the SF Prayer Room every Wednesday night from 6-9 pm.  I’d love it if you join me some time. 

My landlord offered to let us move to a bigger apartment and even gave us the keys. She later changed her mind and took the keys back. I was absolutely heartbroken and cried for days. Now, I’m wondering if God kept us from moving because we might have to move so I can get treatment elsewhere. 

We were gifted tickets to see Hamilton and loved it! It left me wanting to live in a way that gives others freedom. 

My husband, family, and friends threw me TWO surprise birthday parties. I’ve lived to be 40 and I’m pretty thankful about that. 

I threw a small birthday party for Catica. The week after her party she snuggled up on my lap and we had this conversation,  C: Mama, you did such a good job. Me: A good job on what, Baby? C: My party. You set everything up so nice and perfect.  My heart melted.  

PRAYER REQUEST

Please pray for miraculous results to this biopsy and miraculous healing. God is able to do more than we can ask or imagine. 

_________________________________________

*I know I’ve already told this story on my blog before but I love to share it whenever I can as it keeps my perspective in check. 

[taylorfiction]

Reunions

Taylor’s POV

HSBVPSRV No jokes, this is the edgiest thing i’ve ever written. Also the longest thing.

Everyone was extremely thirsty for this fic so i decided i would write it before any of you started begging// suing ;)

I wrote this while listening to Melodrama so of course i enjoyed writing it...

We sat on the sofa, nail varnishes spread across the coffee table our favourite playlist blasting music through the house, we were chatting about nonsense, as usual. Nonsense about boys. Nonsense about how our years had turned out. Nonsense about what next year would bring.

I had been spending my days alone, wandering around my house ever since Joe had to go off filming for a month, working hard, while I was lounging around singing to myself, trying to make cool tunes with the utensils in my house. It had only been a week and a half but I missed him like crazy, my body craving his gentle touch and my lips missing his passion and intensity. We messaged every night saying I miss you or I wish you were here and other such texts, we called when we could but I knew some call times made that difficult for him.

Yesterday was the fourth day of having the house to myself since my mom had visited and I was sick of it. I called my best friend. The one I could rely on if I needed to talk about anything, who knew what the constant click of cameras felt like. Who always knew what I was thinking.

Selena.

She had arrived at 11 and we had planned on spending the whole day together, having lunch, dance-parties, general gossiping and watching ‘friends’ episodes.

‘So,’ she started a smile spreading across her face, ’How’s Joe doing?’ She leaned back blowing on her fingernails trying to persuade the mint green shade to dry.

I shook my head at her and laughed a little, ‘Joe is doing fine’ I couldn’t help but smile every time someone mentioned his name, the way he made me feel was so different to how anyone else had ever done before.

‘Look at you smiling! You’re so smitten with him’ she hit my shoulder lightly, in a teasing manner, careful not to smudge anything.

‘Umm, you’ve met him, right?’ I said my eyebrows raising and a smirk plastering itself on my face, ‘I have every reason to be smitten.’ I stuck my tongue out at her before I realised that she was distracting me with the idea of Joe so she didn’t have to talk about her love life.

‘Hey! You’re avoiding a specific conversation, aren’t you? I narrowed my eyes at her, scrunching up my face, I knew her too well.

‘No!’ She said looking extremely guilty, gazing down at her nails again, she smiled slightly.

‘how’s your boyfriend doing’ I raised my eyebrows, ‘Has he taken you places you’ve never been before’ i finished dramatically, a specific reference to one of his songs.

She gave me a look that said ‘I can’t believe you just did that’ before answering, ‘Justin is fine, I’ll have you know he is a lot better than he used to be.’ She finished, a proud look sweeping across her face.

I smiled at her, glad she was happy, ‘He better be’ i gave her a warning look then i continued to waft my hands in the air trying to get my decorated nails to dry.

‘Anyway, we were talking about your man not mine, what’ve you guys been up to?’ she smirked, turning the conversation back to me, she never liked talking about herself, she would prefer to hear other people’s voices than her own.

‘Oh, ya know, not much, just doing couple-y things which is nice and we do date night,’ my voice was excited as I told Selena this, the expression on her face almost as happy as mine, suddenly I remembered, ‘which is actually normally tonight, but, he’s away, so we won’t’ my mood had changed, and I looked around the room, wondering if I could see one of the cats anywhere.

I looked back up at Selena and said sheepishly, ‘I miss him.’

‘Oh, hun’ she sighed slightly, ‘I can guarantee that he misses you too especially all the date nights you have and all the sex and all the meals you share and movies you watch.’ She smiled at me, waving her hand around as if implying he missed everything about me. She then brought me in for a very awkward hug as we tried not to mess up the paint that was so close to being fully dried.

I laughed at her slightly, ’Is it wrong to say I hope so?’ I asked, the worry evident in my voice.

‘It is the most normal thing in a relationship like yours’ she put her hand on my knee rubbing it slightly in comfort and reassurance.

‘Oh, and uh, who said we have a lot of sex?’ My mind only just realising what she had said, I raised my eyebrows at her, waiting for an explanation.

She laughed at this, ’Sweetie, you’re obsessed with touching him, every time I see you you’re playing with his hair, you have your hand on his knee, who knows what you do when no ones around! Helped by the fact you’ve been radiating happiness, which only comes from good, frequent sex, ever since you started dating.’ There was silence as she stopped talking.

My mouth slightly open, I could feel my cheeks reddening slightly as I smiled.

‘But he’s just so good!’ I whispered even though it was only us there, we both laughed at this, enjoying how our conversation was just so easy and honest all the time.

As time went by, we continued chatting and I couldn’t help but miss the times when we would catch up every weekend. I missed being closer to her, I missed having conversations all day long about the same topic and never seeming to get bored.

I looked at the clock as It said 5, ‘Shit, it’s already 5. Do you want me to make dinner or shall we just order pizza as usual?’ I asked, hoping she would just want pizza so we could continue our conversation.

She smiled at me, knowing what I was thinking, ‘Pizza is good.’

I ordered 2 pizzas, margarita and a ham and pineapple. We sat on the sofa, the boxes on the coffee table, enjoying the stringy cheese and doughy base and crust.

Half way through my third slice I heard the familiar sound of the key in the door.

We looked at each other, frowns visible on both our faces as we wondered who that could be. The only people who had spare keys were my parents, security and Joe…

Both my parents and security would’ve called first, which could only mean one thing.

As I realised, the door opened and a smile spread across my face, I ran to him, I ran into the arms of my flawless boyfriend who I hadn’t seen for a week and a half.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ I asked, my voice muffled as I buried my head into his neck, hugging him as tight as I could.

He laughed and leaned back, ‘I thought I’d surprise you’ he smiled before leaning into kiss me. I could taste the longing on his lips. He deepened the hello, placing his hands on my waist and pulling me towards him. It was slow and calm yet still held all the intensity and passion I needed. Just as we were getting excited, we heard a cough from behind us.

I turned around smiling, my back leaning into Joe’s chest, I saw Selena, leaning against the door frame, arms folded, eyebrows raised.

‘You can reunite, and I’m sure you will, later, but we have unfinished girl talk,’ the smirk on her face was obvious as she knew that we knew what reunite meant. She stepped forward and grabbed my hand leading me back to the sofa.

‘Good to see you too Sel.’ Joe winked at her and laughed as he took his coat off and walked into the living room behind us. I was sitting on the sofa, my back leaning against the cushions, as Joe came up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders, ‘Ooh is that a margarita?’ he said cheerily, squeezing my shoulders.

He walked over to the coffee table and picked up a slice fitting half of it in his mouth at once, I laughed shaking my head.

‘Are you laughing at my eating?’ he raised his eyebrows at me, pretending to be offended, a hurt look on his face.

‘I have no problem with your eating’ I retorted smiling innocently at him.

‘Yeah, no problem when I’m eating you’ he smirked at me, a cheeky look in his eyes.

‘Okay, that’s enough of that!’ Selena exclaimed, her eyes widening and her hands covering her ears. I laughed at her reaction and smirked at Joe.

We continued the banter-y conversation as the minutes ticked by and at around 9 pm Selena suddenly exclaimed,

‘Shit, is that the time? I should go and leave you two to… yourselves… This was lovely T, we need to do it more often’ we got up and made our way to the door, I gave her a tight hug after she had put her coat and shoes on and she gave Joe a brief hug as well.

‘Look after her’ she pointed at him, raising her eyebrows.

‘Oh, I will.’ He winked and smiled, an arm encircling my waist bringing my side into his.

‘Ew,’ is all Selena said in response and laughed before we said our final farewells, promising to text each other later.

I shut the door behind her and turned around to see Joe smiling at me.

‘Hey,’ he said as he took a few steps towards me, his hands instantly going to my waist, ‘I missed you,’ he smiled before taking my lips in his.

‘mmm’ I murmured as I smiled into his kiss, ‘I missed you too’ my hands went to the back of his neck, tugging at the blonde strands.

‘It’s date night’ I whispered as I pulled away and let our foreheads touch gently, ‘what shall we do?’ I bit my lip and smiled at him. God, I’d missed this.

‘I have a pretty good idea of something we’d both enjoy.’ He smirked and once again caught my lips in his, as though he wanted to trap me in his web, as though he never wanted to let me go.

We spent the night intoxicated with each other, focused only on the other’s presence. The night felt endless but we knew it would come to an end at some point and he would have to go back to work and I would go back to being alone. But that was the last thing on our minds that night.

[hollamd]

Voicemails - Peter Parker

Summary: Something happens to Y/N, leaving Peter heartbroken. He leaves a series of voicemails that show him slowly getting over Y/N, and how her absence has affected him.

Warnings: Swearing, Kinda sad

Word Count: 1945

A/N: I’ve had this written for awhile and just decided to post it. I’m aware it’s not the best so bare with me and how badly I set it up. It’s set up in voicemails so there’s not really any description which might be boring so I’m sorry! Please comment your thoughts and feedback, I’ll even take criticism because I really need to know if my writing is good or not. This was inspired by a 5SOS imagine like this so if anyone knows it, link me! Thanks for reading and please request!

“Hey! You’ve reached Y/N Y/L/N! Sorry I can’t get to my phone right now! I’ll call you back as soon as I can! Thanks!”

October 2nd, 7:38 PM, 1 New Message:

“Hey Y/N, it’s Peter! What movie do you wanna watch for movie night tonight? We could watch a princess movie I guess,but only because you’ve been wanting to forever. Okay bye. Oh, and also, I love you. Bye.”

October 2nd, 7:56 PM, 2 New Messages:

“It’s Peter… Again. I went to the drug store and got some candy for us. I got your favorite, Skittles! I’m on my way over now. Bye.”

October 2nd, 8:03 PM, 3 New Messages:

“I just wanted to let you know I’m here… Y/N can you at least text me I’m kinda starting to worry? You always answer your phone…”

October 2nd, 8:07 PM, 4 New Messages:

“So I climbed up to your window, and you weren’t there, and I knocked on your door, no answer. Please Y/N answer or something I’m really freaked out… I’m gonna try calling your parents.”

October 2nd, 8:39 PM, 5 New Messages:

“I’m starting to look around the city… Maybe you lost your phone and this is just a big misunderstanding? I got your parents involved, who got the police involved, so please don’t get mad at me, I’m just seriously worried. Love you.”

October 2nd, 9:55 PM, 6 New Messages:

“Hey Y/N. I don’t know why I keep leaving you voicemails at this point. Maybe you can hear them, I don’t know… I-I just wanna tell you I love where ever you are, I won’t stop until I find you okay? I’m so sorry.”

October 3rd, 4:34 AM, 7 New Messages:

“Y/N, I can’t sleep. You’d always be here for me and you’re just gone. They say maybe you ran away, but now they’re trying to track your phone. Please be okay. I love you.”

October 3rd, 8:04 PM, 8 New Messages:

“I can’t go to school today, not without you there. They said once it’s past the 24 hour mark it’s unlikely that we’ll find you again. I’ve already been out the past 2 hours looking for you. I don’t k-know what I’d do w-without, you Y/N. We all just want you home…”

October 3rd, 1:56 PM, 9 New Messages:

“It’s Peter, but you probably knew that. I got your sandwich today. I don’t know why I did, I knew you weren’t here. When you come home I promise you’ll get your sandwich, your skittles, and we can watch all the princess movies you want. I’ll never let you walk alone, and I’ll give you lots of cuddles, and I’ll come over every night. Y/N, I miss you so fucking much and it hasn’t been a full day. I hope it doesn’t come to a full day.”

October 4th, 2:44 AM, 10 New Messages:

“Y/N, they found your phone… That’s why… That’s why I stopped calling. I just really needed to hear your voice. It was with some guy, but they said he had nothing to do with you. He probably found it and stole it. Y/N, I went out and followed the guy. I questioned him as spider-man, and he was honest. He didn’t know where you were. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I love you.”

October 4th, 3:37 PM, 11 New Messages:

“I went to school today. I had to keep my mind occupied, but I feel like it only kept my mind on you more. I noticed the absence of you so much, and Ned did, too. You weren’t there to help me with my English homework, and you weren’t there to tell me that I looked cute in this blue sweatshirt. It’s the one you’ve always loved. I don’t know why I bother calling. Maybe in a way you can still hear me. That sounds fucking dumb this is fucking dumb why did you have to leave!”

October 5th, 8:06 PM, 12 New Messages:

“I went to school again today. People kept coming up to me and saying ‘Oh Peter, I’m so sorry’. But they’re not sorry. They never knew you. They didn’t know like I did. I found myself walking after school and I ended up in front of your house. I climbed up to your window, and went inside your room like you were still there. Sorry if that’s a little creepy… I just.... It smelled like your favorite perfume, and your homework was there on your desk, waiting to be finished when you got back from wherever you went. The necklace I got you last year isn’t in it’s box, so I’m assuming you’re wearing it… I feel like a piece of me is with you in that necklace… That sounds fucking dumb I’m so sor-”

October 6th, 7:44 PM, 13 New Messages:

“I just wanted to hear your voice again… Do you remember that time, when you found out I was spider-man? I’d just saved you from the creepy guys, and you totally recognized my voice… I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save you this time. I love you.”

October 7th, 5:46 PM, 14 New Messages:

“I guess this is a daily thing. I’ve never felt like this I mean… I know my Uncle Ben died, but I don’t know if your dead or alive or where you went. I don’t know if you’re hurting, if you’re calling out my name, praying that I’ll come and save you… Maybe it would be better to know you’re dead than to just know you’re out there; dead or suffering. But maybe it’s not. I would give anything to hold you just one more time.”

October 8th, 7:16 PM, 15 New Messages:

“I spent the whole day looking for you. I don’t know when that’ll stop or when these phone calls will stop. You’re just… gone and I can’t get over it. It’s been a whole week since I last saw you. It was Saturday, and we were studying for some dumb English essay that I’ve probably bombed. I wish I had held you that night, and told you just how much I love you. I wish I had told you how I’d never let you go, and that maybe one day… We’d be together forever. I’ll never stop looking for you, I’ll never stop loving you, Y/N.”

October 9th, 8:23 AM, 16 New Messages:

“I’m just about to look for you again. Ned suggested we watch a movie or something but all I wanna watch is a fucking princess movie with you. Your parents called me and told me a few minutes ago they’re emptying out your room. Can you believe that? It’s barely been a week and they’re trying to erase you? I tried to tell them to wait, so I guess that’s what I’m going over to do.”

October 9th, 10:12 AM, 17 New Messages:

“Hi… When I, um, got to your house, your parents handed m-me this letter. God, I must sound like such a wreck right now. You wrote a month ago, and I guess you never gave it to me. Maybe you forgot to, or maybe you had it for a situation like this. It said that you loved me so much Y/N, and you always felt save. You loved our movie nights, the way we did our homework together, how I’d always make you feel better with a cup of tea, a-and how you believed in me as spider-man, always… You had said one of your best memories was me telling you just how much I loved and how beautiful you were, at our fourth date, the picnic… But I think my best memory is this. Finally seeing, on paper, that you loved me, and just how much.”

October 10th, 3:56 PM, 18 New Messages:

“Today, they started selling homecoming tickets, but I know there’s no way in hell I can go to that. I was supposed to take you, and I’d buy you the prettiest corsage, with your favorite yellow roses… God, I’m rambling. When your parents went through your room, I found my old gray Star Wars sweatshirt. The one you loved so much and you’d always wear it… I told them to keep it, I couldn’t take it away from you. I took a bunch of your things… and it was the weirdest crap, too. I took that box of the necklace I gave you, just in case it ever needed a place to go whenever you came home. I took your favorite perfume, and I took your school notebooks, and I took-k our movie blanket, along with the lipstick you had worn the last day I saw you. I remember that day vividly. You were the prettiest you’d been. Your hair was pulled up into a sweet, curly ponytail, and you had been wearing some red flowy dress. You had on some peachy pink lipstick, and I know because it was your favor-”

October 12th, 4:57 PM, 19 New Messages:

“I didn’t call you yesterday, but that’s only because I tried my hardest not to. I will never love anybody more than I love you, Y/N. God, it sounds so weird saying your name… It feels weird. I j-just… Can’t believe this is happening. You’re actually gone now… I’m starting to get used to the fact, and I can’t believe I’m getting used to the fact that you’re not coming back.”

October 14th, 9:36 PM, 20 New Messages:

“I’m in the the bathroom at school right now. They’re clearing your locker out. I took your stuff for you, but its just your textbooks and your book. I opened The Notebook, your favorite, and you had all these scribbles inside, and doggy-ear pages. Some pages had fallen out, and some we’re just gone altogether. It was falling apart, but it was yours…. I-I’m falling apart, but I’m still yours.”

October 21st, 10:59 PM, 21 New Messages:

“Homecoming is tonight. I didn’t go. I couldn’t. Instead, I stayed home and I watched Beauty and the Beast. I know it’s your favorite. You’d always beg me to watch it, but I never said yes. So I’m watching it now, but it’s not the same because you’re not here. I miss you much.”

October 31st, 1:01 PM, 22 New Messages:

“Happy Halloween, Y/N. I know our plans were to dress in matching costumes, so I went to the store and I got them for us. I know I’m fucking dumb but I can’t let you go. I finally started going out as spider-man again 7 days ago, but that doesn’t mean I got over the guilt of not being there to save you. They’ve already given your locker away and everyone’s already gotten used to your absence. I haven’t, I don’t think I ever will. It’s been 30 days since you disappeared. I want to be happy, Y/N. I do. But I don’t think I can do that anymore, not without. Maybe I’ll be okay eventually, just maybe. I know you’d want me to move on, and ask out Michelle or something, but I only want to be with you. I’ll wait for you. I’ll be here for when you decide to come back. This has been one of the hardest months of my life. I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. And I always will. Love, Peter Parker.”

“. . . We’re sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service, if you feel you have reached this recording in error please hang up and try your call again.

Next

Masterlist

[oneweekoneband]

If you get on folk music's most celebrated highway and drive north along the shore of the biggest freshwater lake on earth, cross Knife River and angle right onto a red-dirt gravel driveway that winds almost a full mile down through tangles of lupine and sumac and quaking aspen, you will find, set back on a sloping lawn, a gray house with a dark red front door. Ten years ago, I lived there. The plot of land where it stands used to hold a different house, white clapboard with blue trim; I watched one morning before fourth grade as a bulldozer ripped open the front wall of that house and something yellow — a forgotten toy, or maybe just a piece of insulation — tumbled from what used to be my bedroom to the grass below. We broke ground on the new gray house just before the leaves fell that year. My mother, an architect, drew the plans. My stepfather, a contractor, worked to frame it and roof it and hang the drywall. By the next summer, the house was complete enough that the three of us were able to move upstairs from the single dusty room we'd been sharing in the half-finished basement, and that fall, Suzanne Vega released Songs in Red and Gray.

---

The facts: Songs in Red and Gray is Vega's first album after her divorce from Mitchell Froom, who is the producer of 99.9F and Nine Objects of Desire as well as the father of her only child, Ruby. In the press she remained adamant that the album was not explicitly biographical, that only a handful of songs dealt directly with her emotions and experiences regarding their split, and that in no way should it be considered a concept album about her divorce. Nevertheless, the theme of divorce runs through the songs the way a vein of iron runs through earth, deep and heavy and unyielding. I have no way of knowing if, when I whirled around our new kitchen to "Priscilla" with tattered chiffon scarves from the dress-up basket swirling in my wake, that same vein already lay beneath the smooth tile and fresh paint and slab foundation of the gray house. I do know that, five years later, before we'd even installed the upstairs shower or finished the front porch, my mother and I moved out for good.

---

Trying to explain Songs in Red and Gray feels like trying to explain this house to you: the house my mother dreamed, the house my stepfather built. I could sketch a floor plan, spread out paint samples, tighten focus on any number of tiny details and fixtures to illustrate a point, but to me it is not about any small part of the whole. It's about the air inside. How it changed. This album sounds different than any of the work that came before it — there's a different atmosphere, a heaviness and a hugeness, a flung-wide feeling that could be freedom or grief, depending on the light. What must it feel like, spending years of your life laboring over a project with someone only to come to a point when the work is all that's left, and then not even that anymore? How do you learn to move alone through the space you once traversed together? This album starts with "Penitent" — once I stood alone so proud — and despite the name it is not so much a hymn of atonement as it is an exhale of long-held breath, a sigh of relief and frustration and pure honesty addressed to an indifferent god. Or husband. Or father.

---

If you're paying attention, you'll notice that the divorce already happened. Before the first house even got torn down, before I ever sang along to "Soap and Water" — daddy's a dark riddle, mama's a headful of bees — I'd learned to live like the little kite, carried away on the wayward breeze. My stepfather built the gray house; my father haunted it. Telephone calls and bad dreams. Twice a month my mother would drive me to see him: six hours one way on a Friday night, six hours back on Sunday. She copied Suzanne Vega's first two albums onto a single cassette tape so we could listen straight through both, and I'd stare out the window, past the ghostly reflection of my own face, the shadowed ditches, the half-moon hanging in my hair, listening. Mostly I was silent but sometimes I'd sing along. My favorite was "The Queen and the Soldier." She closed herself up like a fan.

---

I said I did not want to dwell on the small parts of the whole but, actually, it’s the smallest things that snag, burned into the back of my brain like afterimage. The gray pewter vase held the deep red rose / one piece of coral shone white / by the brass candlestick near your red velvet coat / is everything I can recall of one night. Color makes this album what it is, and it’s color that comes back to me most readily in memory. When they were building the gray house they cut down my favorite rowan tree, the one split at the base into three trunks with a cleft just big enough to hold me. I can still see it in my mind’s eye. Whorls of white lichen like lace over the dark silver bark. Vivid red berries. Did you know that there’s a logic to the way languages develop words for color? First comes the differentiation of values: dark and light. Next is always red, because you need a word to call attention to blood.

---

The traditional way to trace a family history is by tree, but I find it easier to follow the path not branch to branch but split to split, a maze of rifts and cracks. My family tree reads like twigs scattered on the ground, like fortune-telling. The week I watched the bulldozer tear down the white house, my teacher instructed our class to create timelines of our lives. Include significant events, she said, like when you've moved or your family structure changed. As I began to track backwards through the number of ruptures and relocations, I became increasingly anxious; I could not see how to cram all of my significant life events onto the paper she had provided. Already there had been too much upheaval. At the far right edge of the ruler-straight line she’d drawn for us, I wrote, watched my house get torn down. I don’t remember what I left off the page to make sure everything fit properly, I only know that I must have done so, because never in my life have I managed to tell the full story in any one place.

---

What stuns me most about this album, even after all these listens, is its sense of control. Amazon’s reviewer wrote that it is “arranged with the meticulous precision of a butler laying silver on a table,” and although I think that wasn’t meant strictly as a compliment I can’t help but hear it as one. There’s something heavy and rich and ritualistic in it, but no sloppy decadence; more like something Catholic, explicitly — the Virgin Mary on a chain has hit me in the mouth again — and implicitly, echoes of sin and sacrament and guilt and ceremony. Old magics and new. Actions seem spurred not by abandon but by lucid calculation, every sentiment balanced in a cold and practiced hand before being placed — not hurled, not smashed, not brandished — placed, with exquisite care, in exactly the right spot. A long row of silver knives on a red tablecloth.

---

Outside the gray house with the red door, walking the windswept shoreline, I collected stones. Smooth and round and dark gray, some washed almost to perfect circles in the tumble of the lake. I’d fill my pockets and bring them home to line the windowsill or bookshelf, dropped them carefully into glass jars. When we were packing to move out, I remember thinking: what the fuck am I going do with all these rocks? It seemed absurd to lay them carefully inside a box and carry them away, but somehow more absurd to bring them back outside, dump them unceremoniously on the beach somewhere and leave. The title track of this album has a line that goes will you please tell me why I remember these things / after all of this time I don’t know, and it was that line that echoed in my head the first time I encountered the much-loved quote from Anne Carson’s “The Glass Essay” where the mother says, You remember too much. Why hold onto all that? And the narrator replies, Where can I put it down? In the end, I took the stones.

---

My mother and I moved into a new house, splintery blue shingles and a rust-smeared white screen door, and the week afterwards, I started high school. We pulled up the stiff shag carpet and painted the walls wearing torn jeans and ate dinner together every night. Like the Gilmore Girls, people said to us; I hadn’t seen the show so I didn’t know whether to confirm or deny. I’ve watched a few episodes now and the comparison seems fair, but what struck me as the greatest difference is the ease with which they draw honest emotional conversation out of each other, how willing they are to speak the names of what haunts them. What hurts them. Then again, once my mother asked me over a plate of eggs Benedict in a diner: how come you were always able to understand when to get out of a relationship? And I said: I think watching you get divorced twice taught me that breaking up was always possible.

---

Forgive me all my blindnesses / my weakness and unkindnesses. I have the only child’s predilection towards secrecy and silence, sharing myself only insofar as I reveal nothing that sits too close to the bone. I have, too, the only child’s myopic self-absorption; I tell history by telling the story of myself. It is hard for me to talk about my parents’ marriage because I have no memories of them together, aside from a single hazy impression of my mother at the kitchen sink in my fathers’ house, washing dishes, her dark hair still tumbling halfway down her back. In that memory, she is only a few years older than I am now. So much of this album recalls my past selves, my early private dramas of sorrow and self-creation, but when Suzanne Vega sings soap and water / take the day from my hand / scrub the salt from my stinging skin / slip me loose of this wedding band I’ve never not pictured my mother’s hands under the fauce, her bony knuckles and trimmed nails, and the ring from her second marriage, beaten with an intricate pattern of platinum and rose gold. Our hands look remarkably alike, but they are not the same hands. I am embarrassed to say that I do not know the story of how she left my father, nor the story of how she left my stepfather, from her perspective. I am not sure that I have ever asked her, and if she ever told me, I have failed to remember.

---

Whatever happened to the handsome fist? He’s here, of course, he always is — the puppeteer from “Machine Ballerina,” the adulterer from “Song in Red and Gray,” the imperious patriarch of “Penitent.” The last time I saw my former stepfather was when we ran into each other in the grocery store a few years back. He looked the same as I remembered: close-buzzed silver hair, rough suntan, crinkles around the eyes. I almost hid from him at first, nervous and expecting some sort of confrontation, but of course he was perfectly kind to me. Every man is not a fist, as it turns out. Or, I guess — some fists don’t come out swinging. Some fists clench tight because they don’t know how to loosen into a flat palm, allow themselves vulnerability. Some fists clench tight because all fears elide into each other, and there’s no way to know when it’s safe to let go.

---

Take what’s wrong and make it go right, you can / weave it like a prayer. This is the part where there should be some kind of revelation. The place where, having been tossed up in the air, the pins come down and I catch them, set them out in sequence so the story makes sense. But the problem is it isn’t a story; I didn’t toss the pins in the first place, and I can’t do anything but scramble to catch them as they come plummeting out of the sky one by one. I’ve never been any good at magic tricks. I can barely even shuffle cards. I tried to learn, bought a book and everything, but my hands wouldn’t do what my mind asked. My father could make coins disappear and reappear at will; it is the only thing I remember him doing that ever delighted me.

---

Two years after my mother and I moved out of the gray house, I quit speaking to my father. I did not know that I was going to do it — I just left one weekend and never went back. Two years after that, I graduated from high school; I had a rocky start to college, but in another two years I moved out on my own, for good. My mother started dating someone new — another builder, actually — and they’ve been spending every summer and some winters tearing up the house, redoing bits and pieces to make it more livable without altering the fundamental structure, its good old bones. He re-shingled the outside in raw cedar, which will, over time, weather into a beautiful shade of silver. But they won’t be around for that — the plan is to try to sell it in a couple of years and buy a plot of land somewhere outside of town, build a place of their own from the ground up. Whenever I’m back to visit my mother reminds me that eventually I’ll have to sort through the boxes of my old things and decide what to keep and what to throw away. But, she says, no rush.

---

This album ends with a song called "St. Clare." It is, actually, a cover — the original is by Jack Hardy, an old-school New York folk singer and long-time friend of Vega's who passed away in 2011.  Bold little bird / fly away home. Where is home, exactly? Pretty soon every house I’ve lived in before age eighteen will be closed to me forever. A few summers ago I almost made it back to the gray house with the red door — a friend from college came to visit and we drove up the shore together, past Knife River, right onto the gravel road which, as it turns out, is paved now, but I couldn’t bring myself to go all the way down the driveway. What was I afraid of? Seeing something? Or being seen? I couldn’t explain it. We turned around, headed back past the lupines and the sumac and the quaking aspen, back to the famous highway. I think, actually, we listened to that album on the trip — yowling at each other, hoooow does it feeeeeeel! To be on your own. No directioooon home. That was three years ago, and I haven’t been back since. Lately I’ve been fantasizing about driving up the shore again. What I miss more than anything is the landscape: the rock beach, the shadows under the pines, the way the sunlight scatters off the surface of the lake on a calm day. I would like to go back on a clear afternoon and sit next to the water and feel the wind in my hair. When you say home, actually, that’s what I imagine. Not a house at all, not even a person — instead, the atmosphere that holds them, the air that slips in and around and through those precarious human spaces. A place to breathe, a sense of change. Something wild. Something green.

[sldkfjskdfjlsdk]

31419

throwback thursday

it’s actually thursday

putting you here

---

you’re a liar, case 1. a few weeks after he cheated with you, summer 2018:

Hi Shirley

My heart is so heavy and I want to start by saying I’m sorry. I want to be as honest as I can with you and my heart wants to make so many excuses but I want to own up to what I did and I wronged you and I’m sorry. I cherish you and my heart breaks when I know you’re struggling with something and I always wish we were in closer proximity somehow so we could spend more time together and know each other more deeply. I have always believed if we grew up together or lived near each other we’d be best friends. I don’t know exactly what Shinu told you but I’ll try my best to give you context in terms of what had been occupying my mind at the time. After school got out and Bryan and I had broken up, I tried cutting contact to start building my self worth or whatever. I broke a few times and ended up calling or texting because I missed him or to tell him to stop snap chatting me and whatnot and we ended up meeting when I went to LA and it made it really hard for me. He was being so good to me and I felt like I lost something I would never get again. Like he was the only person capable of loving me for being me. But the day after I came from LA he sent me a long, almost frantic text telling me that out of sadness he flirted with another girl while we were still together. I found out through her that throughout summer to he’s tried hitting her up and doing things with her all while trying to convince me we’re right for each other. I understood that it was out of sadness but I couldn’t help but feel like since this was happening to me for like the third or fourth time that it’s because of me. And it just made me sad. And I felt like I was at square one with building my self worth again. So fast forward to what happened. I was in a really vulnerable place with what had happened and I looking back I think I just wanted to be wanted by someone I knew didn’t want me. In the moment I thought I was acting a certain way because I was too sad to care about consequences but I was really afraid. The more time passes the more it hurts and especially the guilt towards you. I’m so sorry for letting things happen between us knowing you have feelings for him. I can’t say exactly how you feel but since it happened with me I know how it made me feel and that overwhelms me because I know how upset it made me. It’s because I wasn’t thinking. It’s because I let other things blind me in a moment and it’s triggering me a lot more violently as time continues. I understand if it’s difficult for you to talk to me, or if you want to stop, or if you want to talk more. I don’t need you to forgive me, but I want you to know I’m truly sorry. I wrote this when I was really sad and soon after it happened and it might be hard for you to read but if you want more insight to how I’m reacting to this you can read my blog post, I’ll leave it at the bottom. But as a disclaimer, I’m broken. I know I’m broken and I know it’s not going to be forever but I am so repulsed by intimacy at the moment that I can’t imagine myself loving someone again and that’s a very non-Emmy thing to feel. When I talked with you last briefly about Shinu I truly felt in that moment like I’d be okay but I think this triggered me a lot or maybe when I remove myself I start to feel that discomfort again. If I could say honestly, I felt hurt by Shinu and you having feelings for each other. I know I can’t do anything about it, and I know neither can you guys, but for some reason I felt a sense of betrayal in it. All three of us are really broken and when I first found out that you guys liked each other I felt very wary and uncomfortable with Shinu being intimate/vulnerable with someone, especially when that someone is a someone I cherish deeply, after the experiences I had with him. And now that sense of dread has returned and I am afraid for you to be vulnerable with Shinu and now that fear has become concrete and I wanted to be honest about it. I know he has been there for you and helped you in a lot of ways and you guys have become dependent on each other and I just wanted to be honest and say that it makes me feel anxious and dull sad. The last thing I want you to do is anything out of obligation. I hope you can be honest with me about how you feel and i want to support you in whatever way I can. ​I love you Shirley and I’m so sorry.

---

after my birthday, 2018:

More came up

I touched you again and thinking about it makes me want to hurl myself off the earth. I got what I wanted, you kissed me, not the other way around but God, I feel like shit. It just reminds me again that I was never it for you. I will never be it for you. I will always be the girl you will settle for because you think it’ll make her a little bit happier. Why is it so hard for me to accept that after everything you still will never be attracted to me? It was so scary for me to touch you. I pretended like it was because I wanted it but I was so fucking scared. And I felt so cold. I felt so cold through all of it. Putting my fingers through your hair I felt cold. Touching your face I felt cold. It was so evident that I would never have you. It’s so weird, the fact you let me touch you made it so clear to me the nature of our relationship and the fact that I will literally never have you like you have me. I think this incident triggered my repulsive reaction to intimacy and I think it’s really because it frightened me. Before this, every time we got intimate with each other in the midst of me “knowing” you didn’t like me felt justified because I refused to believe you had no feelings for me. It lasted all of senior year because I thought you’d come back to me somehow and it’d be like that one day at six flags again, or like the beginning again. I kept saying okay even through the time you said you have sex with me because it’s fun because I held onto the chance you might love me like I loved you. It was always this time, this time, this time he’ll understand me. This time he’ll actually love me. This time he will be with me because it’s me and not because it feels good. Oh, but this time. I acted like I was so in control but all it was is me becoming good at not seeming scared. This time it was perfectly clear you have no feelings for me. This time I knew it was you letting me. It’s almost funny how scared I feel now because there’s no more shroud of maybe’s when it comes to your feelings about me. I always coped by convincing myself I wasn’t alone but right now I feel so by myself. I’ll never understand intimacy with someone you don’t like. I think that’s why I feel like I can’t be intimate with people anymore because I feel too scared to like someone new again. Because I’m so convinced I’ll never be the only girl for someone else. I feel uncomfortable that she doesn’t know. It makes me feel sick. I’m guilty. Is it the same as her continuing something with him after I told her what happened with us? Not really, but that’s starting to make me uncomfortable again. This whole fucking thing is a trigger and you should’ve never kissed me and you should’ve never got into bed with me and I should’ve slept over somewhere else. ​

---

sometime during summer, 2018:

You know I wouldn’t tell you and Shirley to stop dating bc it’s unfair to me

I still consider you my best friend but you can’t expect us to be close when you’re with someone else and that’s how it’s going to be for me

Do you understand why now

When I spend too much time with you I hurt too much or I start to get feelings for you again or both and both is kinda what happened over summer before I realized I was alone

I felt very let down by Shirley

December vs now

You mean too much for me to be friends with you

Loving you was always a choice and always my first choice and it was always and easy choice

Being hurt by you not loving me was also a choice but I never realized it

But the only way I could not be hurt by you was to not be associate with you or to not have expectations from you and to not talk to you

This summer I really realized and understood that you care

But you gotta understand that it is a very unfortunate situation for me and it hurts for me to be in the picture

If you don’t get why

Think about what happened over summer

We literally just smoked whenever we hung out

And then we kissed

And that felt so shitty shinu

Everything about that night felt so shitty and that’s just like a culmination of my sad and I just got worse until YI

But you know how you like hugged me

That wrecked me the most because I felt like you really cared when you hugged me

Everything else felt so empty and pitiful but thinking about how you hugged me made me sob for weeks after

Seeing how you have such a deep effect of me made me realize I’m infringing on something in your relationship with Shirley and my well being

Why does it affect me so much?Why does it all hurt so much?I think everything leads back to how you were my first everything and ultimately the fact we had sex

That in itself has left such a deep, painful scar that can’t really mend itself when our lives are so entangled, especially having to be your friend while your affection is aimed at someone else

I think my heart feels like I poured out so much, but he stopped showing me affection because he wasn’t attracted to me anymore? I would’ve chose again and again to make things work with you but I wasn’t allowed that choice because your love was based off attraction to me as a girl, attraction that didn’t exist for half of the year we were regularly having sex

Yeah ouchies

After YI I realized the devil was lying to me in the sense that he was telling me I was always gonna hurt because I can’t not be your friend

But I realized like hurting is not my destiny and it’s definitely not what god wanted my life to be surrounded by

So I chose freedom for myself and that meant to cut it clean as I left and for me to be more intentional when I’m home

And looking back to last year, I didn’t even have to try to talk to you often at the beginning of the year I just wanted to talk to you and to maintain our relationship but you were the one who said you didn’t have anything to say to me and we stopped talking because of that

Is that different now or something? I thought for you if I’m not there you don’t feel as close to me anyway so I didn’t think it’d matter to you that we didn’t talk after I left

Took the enneagram again and realized how accurate the negative sides of my type is and I think our entire relationship was so damaging because being unloved or feeling

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you fucking stupid BITCH, emmy you stupid fucking fake ass bitch who lies to herself and blames herself for things that happened to her

but it is your fault, you didn’t love too much, you hated too little